It was my favorite time of year: hunting season.

The motel next to the bar where I work fills up with whitetail hunters, and I have my choice of fine young bucks to pick up for a night or two of fun. I’m in my early forties now, and I’ve never been more comfortable in my own skin, or more sure of my sexual appeal.

About a half hour before last call, nine men in their mid-twenties came in. It was obvious they were hunters from out of town wanting to have a good time. They came over to the bar one by one to hit on me, using the corniest lines I’d ever heard, and I brushed them off, thinking their abilities in bed were likely to be as bad as their pitches.

I had rejected six of them when the best-looking one came over, setting his empty bottle on the bar. He played it cool, ignoring me... Read More